Invasions and Reunions
by NatashaRostof
Summary: *Takes place at the end of The Return of the King* Continuation of the trilogy; Sauron’s existence had not ended with the quenching of his power, and as fate would have it, the two evils met. They merged in spirit, and became a powerful One....
1. Chapter 1 Aragorn's Vision

_Disclaimer: _None of the original characters belong to me.  They were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and brought to life by New Line Productions, Inc., and probably a bunch of other people also. _Author's note:  _This is a story I began about a year ago.  It remains unfinished, and since my obsession with Lord of the Rings has faded considerably, it would take some major encouragement for me to continue past the several chapters already written.  I'm not sure that it exactly fits the original trilogy, but…fanfiction seems to take special liberties anyway.  :o) _Preface_

In the days of old it has been said that Saruman the wise, great wizard of Middle Earth, turned suddenly to the evil and torment of Sauron.  Overthrown with the downfall of the One ring, he was killed, so they say, by his own client, Grima Wormtongue.  But we know otherwise.  Saruman's power may have been spent, but his great spirit yet lingered… and this is the tale of which I now speak.

There was yet another existence drifting without shape or form.  Sauron's existence had not ended with the quenching of his power, and as fate would have it, the two evils met.  They merged in spirit, and became a powerful One.  Sauron and Saruman drifted from host to unwilling host, waiting for the day when they would finally avenge for the loss of their ring.

_Chapter 1_

In the dark of night, King Aragorn rode to the wood at the edge of the field, accompanied by Arwen, beside him.  The trees seemed content in their roots, the hills on their perches, and the vast tent of stars in their heavens; all the earth was at rest this tranquil night.

The two royalties gazed in silence at the shelters of their slumbering people.  In the moonlight, their silhouettes portrayed the contrast between them.  The light of the moon highlighted Queen Arwen's narrow face, and her eyes gleamed in elvish beauty.  Her slender shape and long legs sat daintily upon a glistening, pure white mare.

Arwen cocked her head slightly, and her gaze was focused on the sky.  Her dark hair flowed from its roots fluidly and was lost in the darkness of her shadow.  Upon her head lay a simple silver ring which was embedded with a clear gem, setting off her gown and proclaiming to all her status as queen, though her manner proved more subtle to this statement.  Queen Arwen had earned friendship and respect from the hearts of her people.

To Arwen's right, King Aragorn's face was relaxed and his eyes were unfocused, gazing off into the night.  His posture was Kingly, yet his deep eyes were friendly, and his heart was true.  Aragorn's head donned the crown of old; made of silver and pearl were the bird-like wings that sprouted from the sides.  Embedded in the circlet were seven stones, and at the summit lay a single bright gem.  This shown like a torch, reflecting the light of the moon and contrasting his dark hair, which had been, incidentally, tamed since his crowning.  The horse beneath King Aragorn was a chestnut shade and bore his weight easily.

At long last, Arwen broke the silence of the night, speaking softly, "All of Middle Earth is at rest.  All is contented; none lay in pain.  All is still, all is well.  We may now sleep, and through dreams share the peace that beholds us tonight."

Aragorn's response did not come for a moment.  Finally, he nodded and said quietly, "Yes.  All is well.  We may go."  And they turned and rode easily home.

Aragorn tossed and turned in his bedchambers.  Indeed, his sleep brought him no peace.  Were his dreams memories of his treacherous past, or a foreshadowing of that which was still yet to come?

In his dream, the Dark Lord lived, and was on his way swiftly to Minas Tirith unseen, to the complete surprise of all.  _A tremendous, evil roar issued from the midst of the civilians.  Each of the women looked about frantically as the men donned their mail.  They were ready to fight even the invisible enemy.  Trumpets sounded from on high, and men formed themselves into ranks.  They marched to the border, but to no avail: The Evil had entered the city of Minas Tirith._

Aragorn awoke with a yell.  Arwen was also awake now, and maidservants came rushing to his aid.  He had, against his knowledge, been yelling orders to his terrified men, and thrashing in battle against an unseen enemy.

He apologized and sent his servants back to their quarters, but remained for the remainder of the night in an uneasy state of unrest.  He paced the floor of his room, memorizing the patterns of the brick-lain floor.  His had been a dream like no other, and a complete contradiction to his present experiences and knowledge of his city's situation.  Even in his past battles with the goblins and orcs, he had no memory of a hidden enemy entering the city at such ease.

So, then, was this dream a warning?  An advance notice of returning evil?  What aid could this knowledge, if it was such, bring to the King?  Apparently, for this enemy, defense was not a worthwhile precaution.  So what could he do?

Bright rays of dawn presently came bursting through the window, momentarily diverting his train of thought.  The cock let ring his jubilant song of a new morning.  Aragorn sighed and seated himself on a padded chair.  He sank into the lush seat and racked his brain for a plan of action, anything to bar the future from unfolding according to his terrible vision.

The only plausible act that entered the depths of his mind was to leave.  But to flee?  Run from the beautiful land that his people had enhanced by the sweat of their brows?  Leave this city that they had defended through thick and thin, war and peace, all because of a whimsical dream, a stray thought of the king?  To abandon it, if the situation _was_ as he saw, to inevitable destruction by the enemy—would even his most faithful have confidence in his—his dream, his vision?  Would his own wife trust his sanity?  

Oh, the people would follow.  They would go blindly every step of the way, trusting his decision fully.  Aragorn supposed they would, thinking of their reverence and admiration of their King, and above all, remembering their blind enthusiasm for every word that slipped through his lips.  But if the events of his nightmare never came to pass, and they waited in vain for a non-existent enemy, what then?  No, in his heart, he knew they could not leave.

A school bell rang, and its sound was met by the voices of children laughing and yelling, and chattering gaily in the courtyard below until they were ushered into the schoolhouse.  Yet even still, the muffled shrieks of energetic youngsters reached the King's ears.  Minutes later, another small boy came puffing down the path and burst through the wooden doors of the old building with a terrified haste.

At this familiar sight, a smile played upon King Aragorn's lips, the first radiant second in the chamber all night.  But soon the sentiment broke, and he dressed and went down to breakfast in a most troubled mood.

All day, Arwen sensed a change in her husband, and all day she prodded him to tell her of his worries.  But he refused, knowing that, though she loved and trusted him, even the most understanding life; man, elf, or otherwise in Middle Earth would surely take Aragorn's dream plainly for what it was: a dream.

However, Aragorn saw it as more.  He saw deeper into his own vision, as he and no other had experienced it; he and no other could fully understand the meaning behind it.  No, he must carry and interpret this burden, which was given to him and him alone, on his own.

As the days slid by, Aragorn's heart became heavy.  Without knowledge as to whence the attack would begin, his thoughts became radical; anything not aiding his frenzy became a waste of time.  Perhaps, he reasoned, the hour he spent at the banquet table would otherwise be the hour a brilliant and incomparable plan would set in.  Still in his mind he saw villainous orcs when his thoughts turned to battle, which currently was more often than not.

The outside world knew naught of his trouble; the inside world of his mind knew nothing beside.  He was growing desperate; a week he had known of the future's possibilities, and his plan was yet nonexistent.

That very morn, riders were dispersed throughout the city, and, by the King's order, they woke any still in slumber, interrupted the schoolchildren, and halted the workers.  Double shifts were worked at the gates; defense recruits were at an all-time high.  The city that had been peaceful only days before had changed almost overnight, to the bewilderment of the population.  Minas Tirith was ready for war.

Yet Aragorn was still ill at ease.  He had not let it be known how he had retrieved the tidings of war, only that he was certain.  And he was certain.  Turned over in his mind day in and day out, it was clear to him that his peaceful mind could not create such a falsehood of great destruction.

But days passed, and the guards grew weary, and commerce was dropping swiftly with the ill mood.  The townspeople could not go on like this; the morale was sinking fast.  What they needed was something to raise their spirits, but the future looked dark indeed.


	2. Chapter 2 An Unworldly Urge

_Disclaimer:  _None of the original characters belong to me.  They were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and brought to life by New Line Productions, Inc., and probably a bunch of other people also.

_Author's note:  _I have friends who will attest to the fact that this is much more entertaining when I do the voices.  *grin*  And thank you so much for the review, PeachPawz!!  You made my day!!

Chapter 2

Captains Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took were bored.  There was no other way to put it.  Life in the Shire was well and good when that was all you knew of, but they, however, discovered that after walking through distant lands for days on end, and fighting in the heat of battle against an enemy darker than black itself, and singing with the Elves, and drinking with the Ents…the minor gossip and easy laziness of their old home was unbearable.

They missed Strider and Arwen, Legolas and Gimili; they felt left out and cut off from the rest of the world.

With a mutual agreement, they packed their bags and made to leave.  This, of course, was seen in the eyes of their fellow hobbits as a reason to party.  (Merry and Pippin were certainly _not_ flattered)  Moreover, they announced the feast, "To be hosted by the most honorable captains Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took!"  The two immediately canceled all plans and left with no more commotion.  The unhappy hobbits dubbed them "spoilsports" and left it at that.  All documents and thoughts of 'honorable captains' were abandoned and thereafter thought of with a grudge.

But Merry and Pippin were on their way.  As far as they knew, this was a far less urgent mission before them this day than when they had followed the same path years before, so they took advantage of the sentimental values—in other words, took the liberty of stopping at Farmer Maggot's for mushrooms and stew.  Farmer Maggot welcomed them happily in his old age, but this time (thankfully) had no report of mysterious riders in black.

"We're grateful to you, sir.  For dinner, I mean," said Pippin when his plate was empty and his stomach full.

"Yes," Merry agreed, "And more than you know it.  They were so upset in Hobbitton that we left in such haste—let's just say that the food in our packs is draining fast, and, well, you know our ever desire for mushrooms."

"Say nothing of it, lads.  It does me good to meet old friends again."

Merry and Pippin stayed with the kindly farmer for many days, and kept busy by telling the enthralled man and wife of their distant travels.  When all was near said, and in their tale they were nearly back to the Shire, they were sitting in the old kitchen by the light of a dying fire and the full moon, which shone brightly through a window.  Suddenly, the moonlight ceased and Pippin stopped mid-sentence, and all looked up in alarm.  There was a face staring in the window, large, and round, and framed with golden hair.  Then there let a yell and the face fell out of sight.

They quickly ran outside and met a sobbing, sopping Sam.  Barrels had been piled below the lofty window; barrels that were now rolling and splashing in the pouring rain.  Their previous contents were squashed and splattered all over Sam's front and back, staining his garments red.

"Sam!"  Merry and Pippin cried in unison.

"My tomatoes!"  Farmer Maggot yelped.

"What are you _doing_ here?"  Merry asked.

"What are you _doing_ on my tomatoes?"  Farmer Maggot cried.

"The door was locked, sir, if you understand me… and nobody came when I beat on it.  And I certainly didn't mean to fall, sir.  And certainly not on your tomatoes!"  Sam stuttered.

Mrs. Maggot shot a warning glance at her husband from where she stood in the doorway.  "That's quite all right, lad.  And for heaven's sake, come and dry yourself by the fire."

"Don't mind if I do, Ma'am."  Sam entered the house and sat himself by the fireplace.  Farmer Maggot had quite forgotten his exasperation and was now adding logs to the embers in the fireplace.

The pouring rain had since soaked Merry, Pippin, and the farmer through as well, and when the group traipsed in, Merry guiltily noticed Mrs. Maggot inconspicuously eying the many puddles that lay about the floor.

"Sam," Pippin interrupted his friend's babbling about the horrid weather and lofty windows, "May I ask, and don't be offended; believe me, it's perfectly splendid to see you, but—dear Sam, what _are_ you doing here?"

Sam smiled, "Oh, I take no offense, it's an entirely expected question.  But I wonder—how is it that you thought I could live a regular, inactive hobbit life though you could not?  When word got out that you were gone, well, I kissed Rosie good-bye and wet off myself!  Not that she was at all pleased, mind you.  But it wouldn't do for her to come with me, and she isn't terribly angry…." Sam seemed to be attempting to convince himself even more so than his friends, but he wasn't doing a very good job at all.  "Then again, I am leaving her with a big responsibility…but I'll be back soon.  She said that she understood—but really, how could she?  And the baby loves me so much….  Now that it comes to it, I'm not rightly sure of just why I came, just knew that I had to, if you follow me."  Sam looked perplexed and distraught.

"An unworldly urge; a compulsion, like you were needed?"  Merry asked solemnly.

Sam nodded, astounded at Merry's exact statement of his own feelings.

Merry was thinking deeply.  "I felt it too."

Pippin agreed, "Why, yes!  It's quite like being hungry, only you thought you were full!"  He said seriously.

Farmer Maggot and his wife laughed uneasily for a brief moment, but truly were utterly mystified by the occurring conversation.

The hobbits' faces remained straight and their thoughts silent.  All were deep in thought.  "Hungry when you thought you were full."  Sam pondered, "You don't suppose that all was not set entirely right?  Could Frodo be in trouble?"

Merry looked up.  "That's just what I was thinking!  But kind of help are we?  We don't have the foggiest idea where he is!"

Presently, Pippin piped up.  "Strider may know.  Surely if we are needed, he is too.  Certainly of our company, we would help least of all."

Sam had puffed out his chest and began telling Pippin to speak for himself, but Merry was nodding.  "Strange as the events of this night have been, I agree.  Maybe it's another urge, maybe you're totally nuts—Pip, don't glare; I said I agree with you—anyhow, it's time we paid a visit to Strider anyhow.  We'll leave first thing in the morning.  But as for now, I'm going to bed.  Good night!"

No one had an argument, so to bed they went.

In the morning, Merry and Sam awoke before dawn—the farmer and his wife were still, oddly enough, fast asleep in their beds.  So, too, was Pippin.  Finding that they couldn't arouse him, Merry and Sam proceeded to pack their bags.

The last item they turned their attention to was food.  Seeing as the Maggots showing no sign of waking anytime soon, they faced a problem.

"We can't just go in and take their food, that's stealing!"  Sam cried.

Merry gave him a reproachful look and reasoned, "Well, we've done it before!  As youngsters, granted… but surely they'd give us some anyway."

"I suppose that's true," said Sam hesitantly.

"We'll just give ourselves as much as they'd have given us.  We're doing them a favor, not waking them up.  You'll see; they'll understand."  Said Merry, filling all three of their packs and loading full his arms.  Then he indicated to Sam to take an armful of mushrooms and carrots.  "They'll thank us!"

"Why, if they take all this, they'll starve!"  Sam cried, indignant.

Merry gave him yet another reproachful glance and continued by filling his sleeves and many pockets.  "Really, Sam, they're _farmers_!  We'll leave a thank-you note."

As Merry made for the kitchen door, Sam called, "Thank-you note, mind you!"

So Merry sighed, annoyed, and hastily scribbled:

_To Dear Farmer Maggot and his lovely wife,_

_Thank you kindly for your hospitality.  We hope we've not caused you too much trouble.  We've taken the liberty of helping ourselves to some goods for our trip.  Please don't mind._

_Signed,_

_Merry and Sam_

Merry dropped the note and pen in plain view on the dining table and the two of them went silently to wake Pippin.

When Pippin was awake enough to notice all of the food, the group was already well on their way.  "Generous folk when it comes to food, aren't they?"  He said, "Well, then again, I do suppose they are farmers."

Merry and Sam laughed at the phrase, and Pippin laughed because he supposed something must be funny.  Then they sat down to breakfast.

Farmer Maggot and Mrs. Maggot awoke to an empty house.  The first thing they noticed was Merry's barely legible note.  However, they enjoyed the first line so well that they quite ignored the rest, until it came to the signatures.

"What about old Pippin?"

"Humph.  Ungrateful young chap."

They shook their heads in disgust of the inconsiderate younger generation and swept the note to the floor.  Mrs. Maggot continued by sweeping it into the dustbin and they went out to start the day's work.

It was not until the next day that they remembered the flattering opening sentence, dug it out, tore off the top, and framed it.


	3. Chapter 3 The One

_Disclaimer:  _None of the original characters belong to me.  They were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and brought to life by New Line Productions, Inc., and probably a bunch of other people also.  The Spring people are mine, though.  ;o)

Chapter 3

The One

Legolas's ears pricked up from his current dwelling in Rivendell.  He cocked his head.  There was a tense spirit to the East.  Something was ill—he felt it in his heart.  A cloud fell over his eyes and an alarm surged quickly through his structured mind.  _He was surrounded by soldiers, falling to death before him like blades of grass easily bent.  A cry of battle sounded; men screamed.  Black birds veiled the sun and all was night._

He blinked, and returned his attention back to the glades of his Elven city.  Sun streamed down merrily and there was not a soul to be seen.  Tranquil singing echoed from the town, and beasts of all sizes seemed to sway, even dance along with the song.  Birds joined their voices, as well as the crickets and tree frogs, and it was lovely.

Legolas leapt lightly to his horse and rode off, his golden stead glistening brightly in the morning sun.  He knew precisely where he must go, and on Goldenmorn, the ride would be easy.

Traveling many leagues, Goldenmorn's legs never tired and Legolas never once halted him.  Together they journeyed nearly ninety miles between mid morn and sundown.

You must be notified of the nature of Legolas's horse.  Goldenmorn's coat was glistening, his eyes steady, and his ears ever alert.  He walked with a strut that would be fit to accompany a king, and a canter to outrun the wind.  He was likely the most sweet-natured, sure-footed beast in Middle Earth.

So, shock it was when Goldenmorn's nimble hoof caught a mysterious hold on—_something_, and the horse landed sprawled awkwardly on his belly, his rider leaping lightly off mid fall.

Presently, out from behind a tree stepped three young maidens.  Each had drawn bows and were standing with them poised, and aimed directly at Legolas's heart.

Legolas, his own bow already in hand, reached behind him instinctively for an arrow, but the one with jet black hair spoke first, her tone steady and commanding.  Startled by the harshness of the girl's voice, he paused and listened.

"Halt, do not put thy hand into that quiver.  On behalf of the Spring, I command thee: halt!"  Her manner left no room for dispute, and Legolas carefully lowered his bow.  She went on, "What art thou called by?  From whence hath thou come, and to where doth thou intend to go?  For only with our leave may thee do so."

"I am Legolas, son of Thranduil.  I am merely passing through this wood, and shall soon be gone, if you wish me to be.  I come from Rivendell, fair maiden, and I seek Aragorn, my King."

Now the girl with chestnut hair spoke.  "His horse claims his words true, Raven.  And the birds say he's disturbed no one."

The last girl had pale blonde hair.  She spoke with a fluid voice, though so softly it was nearly inaudible.  "He is of the Elf-folk, and Owl says they are akin to our people.  We have no reason to fear him."

The black haired maiden spoke again, now a bit more lightly.  "On this news, sir, we shall introduce ourselves to thee.  I am Ravenspring; my friends are Starlingspring and Swanspring.  We are of the Spring people.  We cannot be counted on—"

Starlingspring took over, "—To be anywhere certain at any specific time.  We appear—"

Now it was Swanspring who quietly finished, "—When thou least expects us…or are most in need of us."

Legolas's sharp eyes darted from speaker to speaker.  Now their attention was diverted.

"We should take him to Owlspring," said Swanspring.

"I disagree," Ravenspring opposed.

"I too," said Starlingspring.  "His horse says he's in a hurry."

"Forgive me, " Legolas interjected, "But my horse does not speak, and I have heard nothing conversed between the two of you.  Although…" he hesitated, unnerved by the uncanny, deep contact the woman had with his horse's eyes, "What you've reported is the truth; we are in much haste.  May I ask how you've acquired this knowledge?"

The girls looked at him, then at each other…and then continued their previous conversation, oblivious to his confusion.

"But what is he _doing_ here?"  Ravenspring questioned, searching her friends' eyes for any hint of knowledge, "I know of no Aragorn."

They encircled him, pulling in ever closer, much to Legolas's discomfort.  "His closing is distrustful—green; camouflaged," Starlingspring observed, lightly fingering one of the tassels that bordered his Elven vest.

"Perhaps he is just the chance we've been waiting for," Swanspring whispered with a hint of awe.

"Please, fair ladies, do explain…."  Legolas's attempts were to no avail.  They continued their scrutiny and dialogue most inconsiderately.

"They say the One shall be worn," said Starlingspring, squinting critically up at Legolas's face.

"Perhaps he doesn't reveal it," was Ravenspring's prompt reply.

"None like him do."  Swanspring stepped back silently, having made up her mind.

Finally, they addressed Legolas, but only that Starlingspring may request, "Please excuse us for a moment."  Then they disappeared, and Legolas felt eerily alone, his only company being his horse and some chattering birds in a nearby tree.

He slowly, uncertainly mounted Goldenmorn and prepared to leave, but before they had taken two paces they were halted by the same three girls.

"And exactly wither doth thy think thee art going?"  Starlingspring demanded, dark eyes flashing.

"He is not trustworthy," said Ravenspring to the others, "The One is trustworthy."

"Yet," said Swanspring, timidly wrapping a pale lock of her own hair around a long finger, "Haste can mask any feature, be it love or honesty."

"Sparrow just now arrived," Starlingspring reported, "Saying that he has been to Rivendell, home of this Legolas.  He is favored as a hero among his people…if they be called such."

"'Tis He, then!" cried Swanspring, leaping into the air, "He is our chance!  Let us rejoice merrily, for it is the time of our first Spring!"

At that moment, every bird in every tree was silenced and vanished.  In their place stood a flock of people, of appearances not unlike that of the three girls.  They began to cheer, sing, and wave their hands in jubilation.

"Go on," said Ravenspring to Legolas, "We shall do well to be on our way!"

Thoroughly confused, Legolas rode off slowly, and the maidens followed his every move obediently, on foot.  After many minutes of this, they had nearly lost sight of the mysteriously appearing crowd, to Legolas's relief.  "Ladies, I desire to move swiftly.  Have you no horses to carry you?  Surely you cannot run like the wind, as my horse can capably do.  If you must follow me, do not hinder me."

"Do not fret over us," said Starlingspring, "We shall not hinder thee.  We shall match thy speed."

Legolas urged Goldenmorn to a trot, and then a gallop.  Checking over his shoulder to see that they ran steadily behind him, the pace became an all-out canter.  Then, to his amazement, their feet lifted off the earth mid-stride—but their legs no longer ended in feet; they had grown shorter, and their toes were rapidly transforming into claws.

They spread their arms, but soon those too had shrunk and sprouted feathers.  They lifted their faces to the sky so that their eyes gleamed in the sunlight—but were silently transfigured beady black, and their heads became rounded and feathered.  Solid beaks formed from their mouths and noses.  One's neck stretched; the others shrank.  And behind Legolas there flew gracefully a raven, a starling, and a swan.  They flew like lays of right—nearly too fast for the moral eye to follow, but Legolas was far from mortal.  He matched their speed and led the way.

'Till dusk the small company flew like this, and at times, Legolas all but forgot their presence entirely.  The daytime sounds overwhelmed their insignificant flapping and hoof beats, but after nightfall, the only thing audible was the distant thunder of hooves on the terrain, and the flutter of wings aloft in the air.

So, they rode through the night in near silence, with no sign of tiring.

_Dedication: _To Liz and Laura, my Swans; to Bethany and Elizabeth, my Ravens.  ;o)

_Author's note:_  Mary Helen is insanely curious…PeachPawz, would you email me?  *grin*  I flip out every time I get a review—thank you _so_ much!


	4. Chapter 4 A Journey

_Disclaimer:  _None of the original characters belong to me.  They were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and brought to life by New Line Productions, Inc., and probably a bunch of other people also.  Nimbli's mine.  *grin*

_Author's note:_  I wanted to get this out before I left for a week…so 'tis now after Midnight, just for you guys.  ;o)  Please remember to review!!

Chapter 4

A Journey

"Yes, mister, that will be all for today, thank you."

"Going on a trip, are you?"  The gruff voice was lost in the noisy hubbub of the busy market.

"What's that you say?  Oh, yes.  My boy and I.  I'll be teaching him the basics while meeting old friends again.  One of em's an Elf!"

"An _Elf_?  Why, Gimli, I never thought you one so gullible as to trust an Elf!  Imagine, call 'im your friend!  Then again," the short, bearded creature ran his stubby fingers through his course beard, "I didn't know you had yourself a son, either."

Presently, a small, grimy face popped up at the wrong side of the booth, next to the merchant.  His curly, dark hair was muddy and his clothes were carelessly ripped and torn.  The boy was loudly chomping on an expensive, exotic fruit swiped from the very same stall.  "As pop was saying, we're going out into the _wild_!  Did you say 'Elf?'  Hey, dad, can we go Elf-hunting, too?"

The part of Gimli's bushy face that was visible shone beet red.  "This is…."

"I'm Nimbli, his kid.  But I'm hardly a kid no more, right, Pop?  Mum says I mature quickly.  No, ya've never heard of me.  He doesn't talk about me much."

"I can see why," said the merchant under his breath.  

Gimli shot him a challenging look.  "Bring forth the insults and I'll bring forth my axe," he growled.  Shoving a handful of coins toward the shopkeeper and gathering his package in one hand, he took his son by the hair, pulled him under the booth to his own side, and marched stiffly away, muttering to himself.

"He didn't like me much, did he, dad?"

"Of course he does," Gimli lied quickly, "What's not to like about you?"

Nimbli grinned mischievously and chose another free snack.  As an enraged farmer leapt up and began chasing after him, Nimbli splattered the fruit on the ground and scampered off.

Gimli heaved a sigh and sat down on a rock to think.  Perhaps he could forget Nimbli with Aragorn for a while….

About midday, father and son left their dwelling and walked through their small settlement to the border.

"Aw, dad, I'm tired!  Aren't we there yet?"  Nimbli whined once again.

Gimli squatted down and drew a sketch in the dirt with a stick.  He indicated their small, new town, Minas Wurtheu, near Moria and Dunland, and then etched a long line.  Along it, he labeled Rohan, the Entwash waters, and at long last, Minas Tirith.  Then he marked a line very near to the beginning.  "This, my son, is where we are.  And this…" he stretched his short arm to reach the end of the line, "Is where we are going."

Nimbli moaned.  Then he dropped his packs and sat down.  "At least let's stop for the night."

Gimli laughed cynically.  "Ha!  Dear boy, 'tis not yet nightfall!  We will walk long into the night."  Nimbli grumbled, but Gimli had a response ready and waiting.  "I do suppose you could just go on home.  In fact, that's a good idea.  You go home, I'll have the adventure all to myself."

Nimbli yelped.  "Oh, no, father, I do want to come!  Really!  Don't make me go back!"

Gimli smiled to himself.  "It is for the best.  Goodbye, my son—I trust you can find your way home from here?"

Nimbli was now on the verge of tears.  His lip trembled pathetically, and he clasped his hands together and fell to his knees.  "Father, don't make me stay behind!  I'll walk all night—I _want_ to come!  Please, daddy, I love you, don't make me go…."  He trailed out the last word as he sobbed, so it sounded more like, "Go-ho-ho!"

Gimli looked to be thinking, considering his son's request.  "Alright.  I _suppose_ you may come.  But now we've wasted more precious daylight—another hour we'll have to walk tonight."

"Oh, thank you, Pop, sure!"  And the boy didn't complain a bit, even after they set up camp.  Which was, incidentally, early.

As miraculous as the young dwarf's sudden conformation seemed to be, he was quickly back to his typical behavior.  In the morning, he howled about the 'vicious, horrid' insects.  All afternoon, he moaned about the 'tasteless' dried fruit.  All night he grumbled about his 'poor, aching' legs.

The next day, Gimli announced his plan for their path.  "My son, I have decided.  We shall go through…the Mines of Moria!"

Though his father proclaimed this with gusto, Nimbli was unimpressed.  "Oh, the Mines of Moria.  I've heard stories of those.  Am I supposed to be scared of a cave?"

"A cave?" Gimli roared, veins bulging, and saliva spraying as he bellowed, "This is no mere hole in the rock!"

Shocked by Gimli's impulsive display, Nimbli took a step backwards.

But Gimli was not yet finished.  "These vast structures have taken the lives of many a noble Dwarf!  And 'tis not so much the darkness of the Mines, as that which lurks _in_ them!  Beware…even yet, one wrong turn can end in endless wandering, and eventual death…alone…in the dark."

Nimbli cowered by a tree.  "I didn't know, Father!  The stories didn't say all that…I didn't know!  I do not wish to go to this place…but please don't send me home, Father!  I just don't want to take this path…my very blood curdles at your description!"

"That is our road.  And there is not as much to fear as in days of old.  The world has changed, and for the better, to a certain extent.  The mines may now be more…accommodating.  And if not…."  Gimli stopped, trailing off, to leave the rest to the boy's imagination.  Then he heaved his pack over his shoulder and began walking in the direction of Moria.  Nimbli followed reluctantly.

He was silent all morning, and barely could Gimli hear the light crunch under the young Dwarf's small feet.  The world was so magnificent around him; a little brook trickled from the lofty mountain that towered ahead.  Birds sang merrily from the heavens.

Save for these sounds, all was silent.  Too silent.  Gimli stopped, then whirled around.  "Nimbli!" he roared, "Where did you go, you little scoundrel?  This is no small joke!"  He paused, expecting his mischievous son to spring out from nowhere, laughing gaily.

Nothing happened.  The wind rustled in the leaves of the trees.  "Nimbli!" he called again.  His voice echoed, "Bli, bli, bli, i, i…."  All was still.

Again he waited for some action in the distance, a sign that his call would be answered, or at least was heard by some living ear.  A bird flew, cawing, over his head.

Gimli ran frantically toward the forest, calling all the while for his son.  Suddenly, from amidst the silence of the wilderness, he was drawn to the sound of weeping.  He stepped around a large tree and found Nimbli, curled up behind it, frightened and bawling.

"Why'd you come back, Father?  I need to leave.  I can't go to Moria.  You're better off alone!  Please leave me," Nimbli cried, plump tears streaking clean paths in his grubby face.

"For heaven's sake, boy!  You've put me through quite a fright!  And what do you have to say for yourself?  'Oh, Father, I'm scared!'" he mimicked, "Son, it's too late to turn back.  Our path is less straight than you've noticed.  You'd never find your way home without my instruction.  And you've not even been to Moria; since the New Age, it may well be transfigured greatly.  Come, son.  And don't you run off again!"

"Maybe you've forgotten," Nimbli said desperately, "But I'm still just a boy.  I'm _afraid_ of the dark!"

"My child," said Gimli with a sigh, "As long as I have authority over you, I must do everything in my power to help you grow.  Years ago, Dwarves called these caves home.  This is part of your history.  Come along now."

Gimli held out his hand, and slowly, cautiously, the young Dwarf took it, a small smile finally budding on his tearstained face.

And this, friends, was quite a sight to see; father and son walking hand-in-hand eastward, and toward the Mines of Moria.


	5. Chapter 5 Whatever Sam Did

_Disclaimer:  _None of the original characters belong to me.  They were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and brought to life by New Line Productions, Inc., and probably a bunch of other people also.

_Author's note:_  This took absolutely forever, and I apologize profusely.  This chapter was more or less in ruins; I did a lot of work on it.  There are still some inconsistencies that I shall have to work out later, but…here, this is up.

And I might as well warn you: I've only one more chapter written.  Meaning, after Chapter 6, it might be months, at least, before an update.

Thank you for being so patient with me.  :o)  I'll try my best not to take so long for the next chapter.

Chapter 5

"Whatever Sam Did"

"I'm hungry."  Pippin had been repeating the same phrase like a broken record for the past two days straight.

Sam tried not to sound exasperated.  "Quite frankly, Pippin, I wish you'd stop saying that.  I'm as hungry as you are!  And you don't see me going and saying it, if you follow my point."

Pippin did _not_ seem to follow Sam's point, and he was looking a bit hurt.  "You just did!"

"You catch what his meaning was, Pip.  And meanwhile, let's look on the happy side of this…situation.  At least we've all learned something," said Merry.

"Yeah.  Vegetables don't keep well in pockets.  Whose lousy idea was it to take veggies, anyway?"

Sam eyed Merry.  Merry glanced about offhandedly, beginning to whistle a tune.  "Well, it got us this far, didn't it?"

Pippin sighed and munched on a limp carrot.  A look of disgust washed across his face as it squished between his teeth.  He gagged and spit it out.

Suddenly Merry looked up, ears perked and attentive.  Pippin stopped mid-bite and listened also.  Sam continued emptying his bag of vegetables onto the ground, mumbling about, "Good fertilizer…."

"Shh!" said Pippin.

"What's that?" Merry whispered reverently.

"What's what?" said Sam.

"Shhh!"  The others shushed him.

"That singing," Merry marveled, "It's…."

Now Sam heard it too.  "It's beautiful!" he murmured, "Most beautiful singing I ever heard!"  Then he reconsidered.  "Save the Elves, of course."

He wandered off in the direction of the voices while his friends lingered timidly behind.  Sam walked across the field and into the forest.  The sun shone vibrantly through the leaves of the towering trees and was dancing off a glistening pond, planted in the center of a ring of odd-looking trees.  The sound was much louder here, and it seemed to be all around him, coming from every direction.  The music was moderately fast-paced and split into many parts, rising and falling in melancholy chords.

For what seemed like minutes, yet felt like hours, he stood mesmerized, admiring the beauty of the pond, the sunlight, and the trees; hearing the music, and watching the trees.  

At long last he came to his senses and realized what he was seeing.  The trees were swaying with the rhythm of the music as if blown by an overwhelmingly powerful wind, though Sam's hair was only slightly ruffled.  They seemed to be almost…dancing, and…bathing themselves in the pond?

All at once the singing ceased.  Sam perceived that they'd become aware of his presence, as eyes popped open from the bark of the trunks.  Perhaps they were not trees at all!  The creatures were taller than the loftiest Elf, and stouter than the most portly Dwarf.  What he had taken for limbs were indeed such, but moved freely and at will…thick bark covered every inch, serving as skin, and leafy, stringy hair fell wildly from its head.

One stepped forward and addressed Sam.  Her voice, for it was apparent that the being was female, was chipper and her words rushed.  His brain had no time to contemplate what she had said before he screamed and fled.

When he came, panting, back to his friends, they were glaring at him.  "What did you _do_?" Pippin asked angrily.

"Whatever he did, they stopped singing!"  Merry's lopsided scowl was directed at Sam, and he looked ready to bite his friend's curly head off.

"I…I…" Sam stuttered, "Well, don't you want to know what I seen?" 

"O!" said Merry, and Sam was quickly forgiven.

"Of course!" said Pippin, "Why didn't I think of that?  What did you see?  Tell us, Sam, now!"

But before Sam could open his mouth wide enough to speak, there came from the wood a tremendous thrashing and pounding that shook the ground and echoed through the hills.  The rooted trees quaked, and the three Hobbits cowered, lying undercover in the tall grass.

Out from the wood marched a band of fiery-spirited trees.  Each carried a bough of strong wood, positioned menacingly in their great arms, ready to strike at a moment's notice at anything that displeased them.

Just then, Pippin sat up.  His mouth formed a perfect O.

"Pippin!  Sit down!  They're going to see you!" Merry whispered fiercely.

Pippin followed orders, but his eyes remained glued to the ever-advancing band.

Not surprisingly, be as their height surpassed anything the Hobbits had seen before, they spotted the tiny Hobbits, regardless of Pippin's now-hidden advertisement of their hiding spot.  When they reached the cowering group, they circled around them and posed their weapons, ready to strike.

Just then, when Merry was saying his last prayers, and Sam's life was beginning to flash before his eyes, Pippin's incredible timing came to the rescue.  "Why, they're the…" he snapped his fingers and racked his brain, a perplexed look coming across his face, "…The, the Entwives!"

Merry bolted upright, and Sam stopped hollering.  The Entwives hesitated.  Then their leader spoke.  "We have not been called by that title for centuries," said she, "But yea, so we are."

Sam chewed his cheek uneasily, "Entwives," he muttered, "My, that sounds familiar…."

"Of course it does!" said Pippin exuberantly, "They're the wives of the Ents, naturally!"

At this, the she-Ent roared with rage and stomped her mighty feet, missing the poor Hobbits' heads by a frightfully small degree.  "Do not speak of them on this land!  They are dull and slow; their bark is dense.  They fritter away their lives hooming and humming and singing for days on end.  Our historical relation to them is shameful.  If you are a friend of the Ents," (this she said with a particularly fearsome sneer), "…Let you be a foe of us!  And so may you run swiftly that the crashing of our boughs be at your heels and not your heads!"  As she spoke, or hollered, rather, her deep voice resonated, and sap oozed from her barky joints.

Seemingly, Sam had more than half a mind to do so, and he was uneasily shifting to his feet.

Pippin scrambled up and began hurrying away with a wary eye on the advancing Entwives, and tripping repeatedly over anything and everything in his path.

Merry, however, stayed put, and held his ground bravely.  "Wait." He ordered.  His friends froze in their tracks, as did the now slightly bemused Entwives.  His voice had changed tone and was now commanding, as if he were directing an army of a hundred thousand noble creatures.  "None of us ever said that we took any sides in your little disagreement.  Now give us a moment and hear me out.  We have met the Ents, and they were very kind to us.  They seemed to be lonely, though, and dissatisfied without your company.  Hear me!  They wish no conflict between you; they do not loathe you as you do them.  They only wish to revive your dying species, to unite your people!"

He had puffed out his chest and was shaking his fist and bellowing as though he had momentarily forgotten that he was a mere Hobbit, and assumed the authority of an ancient god, towering above them all.  Unbeknownst to him, the Entwives—as well as his friends—were snickering quietly at his performance, for his appearance was so humorous.  Imagine, if you will, a mouse, attempting to intimidate a hawk by trying to reproduce a lion's roar, and the image in your mind should be much like that before the eyes of the towering tree-people.

Finished, Merry unclenched his fist and folded his arms across his chest, a smug look on his face that stated simply, 'Oh boy have I done a good thing, and am I ever pleased with myself.'  Then he squared his shoulders and braced himself for their response.

To his surprise, the leader of the Entwives knelt down as far as she could, releasing a series of loud crackling noises from her joints, and placed her old, stiff hand on Merry's shoulder.  "You humor me, young Hobbit.  But if what you say is true, then we have much to talk about.  Tonight, you shall have the privilege of resting with the fabled Entwives."

Her old, wizened eyes met his adventurous, eager ones, and he smiled as his friends offered a light pattering of applause.

"My, if we get any bit taller, we won't be properly recognized as Hobbits!" Sam exclaimed, after accepting an Ent draught from the youngest Entwife—who was still rather ancient, mind you—named Sweetlimb.

Pippin took one, too, and then gulped down a large swallow of it.  But then he made a dreadful face, and gagged.  Spitting out what remained in his mouth, he clutched his stomach.  Never before had he drank something so sour.  "O, the Ents' drinks were pleasant, but this is just plain bitter!"  He looked as though he was about to upchuck; his face had spanned three shades of green in a matter of seconds.

Sweetlimb frowned.   "Perhaps it takes some getting used to."

"There'll be no getting used to that for sure, speaking for myself, if Pip can't handle it.  He's maybe got the strongest stomach of all us back in Hobbitton!  Save the Proudfoots, though, and…well…I won't be drinking that stuff."  Sam pushed away his own drink.  Merry nodded in agreement, and did the same.

But Pippin soon had all of their attention.  He began to hollar, and they could only stare as the potion began to work its magic.

Pippin was _shrinking_.


End file.
